


and he is rich in all he's lost

by coloredink



Category: Heavy Rain
Genre: Gen, PTSD, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloredink/pseuds/coloredink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hardest part about being normal is everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and he is rich in all he's lost

The glass slips from his hand and shatters, scattering transparent shards across the tile, _ping_. The TV chatters on mindlessly in the background. Ethan doesn't remember what he was watching. He's staring at the glass, winking in the sunlight like diamonds. He starts to kneel, reaching out with unsteady fingers--then remembers, no, there's a procedure for this. Broom. Dustpan.

The glass scrapes against the floor as he sweeps, an almost musical chime. He stops, breathing hard. His forehead is cold and clammy. He can't breathe. He swallows hard.

He takes a step back, and a shard of glass crunches under his shoe. Ethan drops the broom.

\-----

Shaun races from the shower bright pink, hair plastered to his forehead, trailing steam behind him. His feet leave wet footprints on the tile.

Ethan is leaning on the wall outside. "Hey, slow down," he calls. "You'll slip."

"I left you lots of hot water!" Shaun yells, halfway to his room already.

Ethan sighs and enters the bathroom, shedding his own clothes into a pile on the floor. The windows and mirrors are frosted white from the thick, warm air. The shower is a drain in one corner, the head arching silver out of the wall, surrounded by warm-colored tile. The water is almost scalding, and Ethan closes his eyes against it.

He emerges to find Shaun sitting on the floor outside the bathroom, his back against the wall, reading a comic book propped up against his knees. He grins up at Ethan. "Can we play video games now?"

"Sure," Ethan says, smiling. "You pick."

\-----

An insistent tapping forces Ethan to open his eyes. He releases his white-knuckled grip from the steering wheel and rolls down the window.

The sheriff regards him with polite and impatient sympathy. "Everything all right, sir?"

"Yeah," Ethan says, weakly. "Sorry. I just. . . I guess I wasn't ready for the freeway just yet."

The sheriff cocks his head the other way. "Next exit's half a mile."

Ethan takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose. He rubs his sweating palms on his jeans and wraps them around the wheel again. Cars zip by at 60, 70, 80 miles per hour. "Thanks," he says, and turns the key in the ignition.

\-----

"And what about you?"

"Hmm?" Ethan tears his eyes away from Shaun's bedroom door.

Grace is calm and patient, like Ethan is a small child or the only dog at the shelter that cowers in the corner instead of coming up for a pat. "I asked how you were."

"Oh. I'm fine." When Grace doesn't reply, he says, "I mean, I'm doing better."

"Good. I'm glad."

The pause stretches into a sticky silence. Ethan pictures the sweep of her eyelashes, the way her hair falls across her forehead, the phone pressed against her left cheek. He remembers to breathe.

"Well, I guess I'd better go," Grace says. "I'll pick Shaun up at eight."

"Okay," says Ethan. "See you tomorrow."

\-----

Ethan stares at his thumb and the bright red bead of blood that wells up, growing larger and then finally spilling over, rushing down to spread out against the plastic cutting board, where half an onion still waits to be diced.

\-----

He's sketching in the finer details of the attic windows when the thought floats across his mind: where's Shaun?

Then he's sitting bolt upright, calling out, "Shaun!"

No answer. Panic throttles the air from his chest, filling his limbs with pins and needles, hazing his vision. He closes his eyes and pulls in a deep breath, all the way down to his diaphragm. He holds it for three beats, then lets it out slowly. Shaun is in school.

They would've called you if he'd gone missing, Ethan tells himself sternly. They notify parents about this kind of thing. Or they would've called Grace, and she would've called you. You're getting worked up about nothing. Shaun is in school, where he's supposed to be.

Suddenly, he's at the door. He looks at the keys in his hand; he looks at his hand on the knob.

\-----

Ethan sweeps his hand across the surface of the desk, whisking away the last of the stray crumbs, then straightens and claps the dust from his hands. He leaves. When he returns, it's with a library book in one hand and a package of colorful paper squares in the other.

He sits, places the book in front of him, and opens it to the first page. The left side contains a column of printed instructions, accompanied by diagrams. The right side features a large color photo of a paper swan. Ethan selects a square of blue paper from the packet. His eyes flick carefully along the left page. He takes a deep breath, then carefully folds the paper in half, pressing his thumb along the fold to make a crease.


End file.
